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BELL

Some say a man must make his own destiny. While others believe their paths to be fated. I’m not sure which I believe. Perhaps the illusion is the choice itself. All I know is that I am done working my fingers to the bone in these poison fields. My lungs are fortified with toxins no man should be able to tolerate. I’ve saved enough of my wages these past ten years to leave this wretched place and start over somewhere new. Destiny be damned…

“Where will you go, Bell?” Pip asks. The squirrely lad has been my bunkmate since I first arrived here.

The weight of his question has been one that’s been heavy on my mind. Where does a man with no family or ties to anything go? While some may feel lost, I see the beauty in it. There’s freedom in not belonging to anyone or anywhere.

I finish packing my small suitcase. The lightness of it angers me. I want to own more. “I may head back to Wickford Hollow. I hear there’s work to be had there. We’ll see where the day takes me. I’ll know once I’m on the road.” My instincts have always carried me. While these past ten years have been hard, they’ve readied me for manhood. Just like my eighteen years at Wickford Hollow Orphanage prepared me for this dreadful place, Hemlock Valley.

Pip hands me his favorite flask. “For good luck. And in case you get thirsty.” It’s a scratched silver vessel that’s seen better days. But it soothed both our sore throats on many harvest nights. Nights when the stench of nightshade was so thick, it hurt to breathe.

I twist the vines on my necklace first, securing the knotted end behind my neck as it tends to slip, and accept the flask. “Thanks, old friend. I’ll try to write when I get to where I’m going.”

He shrugs. “It’s no bother either way. I know how easy a man forgets.”

We both know he speaks the truth. I was just being polite and saying what all people say when they don’t mean it. I offer him my handshake. “You’re right. We’ll never see each other again. Don’t die out there, Pip. Don’t let them desecrate you like that.”

Pip flashes me a grin. “If that’s my fate, then so be it. The gods will honor me in the After for my hard work.”

I nod, but I’m almost tempted to kill him right now. Spare him the agony of spending the next thirty years of his life picking poison for that despicable Thorn family. Only to keel over and bloat in a barrel of oleander. But I’ve spilled enough blood in this valley. Besides, I actually don’t care that much.

“What’s in the flask today?” I ask as Pip walks me down the dirt path toward the main road.

“Hemlock. For old time’s sake. It will keep you alert on your journey.” Pip stops about halfway down the path. “Well, take care, Bell. If I go any farther, I might keep walking and leave this place too. And I can’t afford to do that, no matter how tempting it is.”

We discovered hemlock to be similar to caffeine, although ten times stronger. Whenever we needed to pull a double harvest, it was the only thing that kept us from dozing off in between the plants.

I offer him one more sip from his flask before stuffing it into my coat pocket. We don’t say another word. And I don’t look back.

When I reach the main road, I look both ways and opt to go left. If my memory serves me, it leads to Wickford Hollow. And if I’m wrong, then it was fated, I guess, after all. Either way, I refuse to pass through Hemlock Valley ever again. Here’s hoping I’ve made the right decision and I don’t end up somewhere worse.

Leaving an old life to start anew is humbling. I’ve never owned much in my twenty-eight years. But what I do have is precious. I twist the necklace around my neck again. It’s been cut from a tree of some sort, the vines old but strong, withstanding all elements. The nuns in the orphanage said it was wrapped around my wrist when I was placed in their care.

I used to ask who my parents were. They must’ve known. But they always claimed that the strange man and woman refused to reveal their identities. One of the nuns, Rowena, told me that I looked so much like the woman. Eventually, I stopped caring. Why should I bother with parents who couldn’t get rid of me fast enough? I was barely off breast milk when they got rid of me. I don’t remember anything except… No. I don’t remember anything.

In my small suitcase, I have a few plain tunics, a pair of trousers, and one extra pair of leather boots. These are inconsequential, and I don’t need them as much as I do the dagger strapped to my leg. Give a man a knife, and you give him the means to fight, to eat, and to take what he wants. Turn your back on a man with a knife, and you deserve whatever comes.

As I travel farther along this path, signposts look familiar. I spot the barn in the distance set back inside the juniper fields, remembering it from my journey here nearly a decade ago. It was old and run-down then; now it is barely standing.

In fact, every structure I’ve passed on this road so far has looked like the epitome of decay. I must get away from it. It pecks at my throat and chest like a buzzard. This squalor has been all I’ve known, but I will not rest until I’m drenched in opulence.

After what I’ve been dealt… I turned away from the gods a long time ago. There is only one entity I serve, and he is myself, Bell the orphan. The man with no surname, no bloodline, and no past. Freedom.

I keep an eye out for a decent spot to camp. Wickford Hollow is still a two-day walk, and I prefer to travel at night. It’s wiser to sleep when the sun is still high. Harder for anyone to get the jump on you when the daylight shines on their backs.

I look across the juniper field and spot the patch of trees. There I can find shade, privacy, and perhaps some food to forage. Cook slipped some biscuits into my jacket, but they’ll taste better with fresh meat.

As I am about to hop the fence and make haste toward it, a distant rumbling erupts from behind. Horses galloping. I don’t risk darting over the line of private property and instead stay the course. Once the carriage passes, I’ll circle back.

This has been the third carriage that’s blown past me since leaving Hemlock. I wonder what has them headed to Wickford Hollow. The town wasn’t much when I left it. However, I suppose a lot can change in ten years.

I keep my face forward, my eyes on the road as the carriage approaches. To my disdain, it slows when it pulls ahead, then comes to a complete stop. The coachman peers back at me, eyeing me with caution.

Good. He should be more afraid of me than I of him. And whoever resides inside that carriage should too.

He tips his hat to me. “Good afternoon, sir. My liege would like to meet you.”

I glare at him until he looks down at his own feet. “I’m not interested.”